


Running Up That Hill

by TheResurrectionist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Batman: A Death in the Family, Blood and Gore, Bruce's mad motorcycle skills, But with a happy ending, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, I need to read more comics, I swear, Jason doesn't die, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 17:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11764488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: Bruce gets there in time.(from a prompt on tumblr. Thanks anon!)





	Running Up That Hill

**Author's Note:**

> This was only supposed to be a few hundred words...and look where we are. 
> 
> (thanks to VaticanSaint and BatShitCrazy and Lopithecus for all the help getting canon straight) 
> 
> Prompt: Can u make one of Bruce getting to Jason in time and then having things being u know happy and good please and thank you (maybe even include Clark because I know u love ur super Bats

The ground passes in a blur. He revs the motorcycle, taking the curve so close, his boot skims the gravel. He ignores the burning under his hands, willing the machine to go faster.

_Please, please, please._

The fear pumps through his veins, until his very being is the harsh burn in his throat and the sting of blood in his eyes. Trees and brush pass by around him, whipping at his arms and legs. He ducks his head, hitting the gas as he pulls into another tight curve.

A warehouse comes into view. He nearly cries out as he sees lights in the window, whipping around another gravelly curve.

_Have to be quick enough, have to be..._

In a blur, he pulls up the path, laying the motorcycle down on the rough ground. He leaps over the seat, the bike skidding past his legs, kicking up dirt and gravel.

There is nothing but the thudding of his heart in his chest. There is nothing but the ache of his feet slamming into the ground, propelling him forwards.

He is too slow. He is too  _slow._

The closest window reveals a terrifying scene. His breath catches as the warehouse floor comes in to view, strewn with debris.

Jason lies at the center, horribly still. There is a pool of blood around his head. His uniform is torn and bloody, the colors blurring into muddy red. His eyes are closed.

To his left sits a collection of wires and antennas. A timer counts down in glaring, red numbers.

_Thirty seconds..._

He breaks the window without thinking, smashing into the glass with his bare fists. The shards slice into his knuckles, but he feels nothing.

For a moment, he sees nothing but red. A desperate fury digs into his chest. The urge to take the Joker's throat in his hand and  _squeeze_ rises within him, and he bites down on the bloodfury.

_Dear God…_

Jason's face is shattered beyond recognition. He is blood and bone and torn flesh, stretched across a little boy's frame.

_he isn't moving..._

The clock reads twenty seconds, the numbers changing in doubletime. He pulls Jason to his chest, ignoring the way the boys' limbs go limp, like a ragdoll, in his arms.

_ignores the blood soaking into his shirt. Ignores the way Jason's chest barely moves, his pulse sluggish under his thumb..._

A heartbeat, maybe two, and he is outside again, Jason clasped tightly to his chest. He cradles the boy's head against his shoulder, running for the path as fast as his legs can take him.

He runs until he can't think about running. He runs and runs and runs and suddenly there is a searing heat against his back, pushing him forward, knocking him off his feet.

He ducks into a roll, shielding Jason from the worst of the blast. Shrapnel zings past them, catching at his face and back. They tumble to the ground, Jason limp in his arms.

Behind them the warehouse explodes again, the fire catching on something combustible inside. In a blur, he rolls them behind a tree, curling around Jason.

His hearing comes back after a few minutes, severely muffled. The world is still fuzzy at the edges-a slight concussion, or they were too close to the blast.

He has to force himself to let go of Jason. He unclenches his hands reluctantly, still dazed. There is a piece of shrapnel somewhere above his C3 vertebrae, digging into the muscle. He is bleeding.

_not as bad as he is,_ a voice says distantly,  _not nearly_

He lays Jason out on the dirt, placing himself between the warehouse and the boy. In the dim light, he can hardly tell what is blood and what is skin. He skims his hands desperately along the ripped uniform, searching for punctures.

Ribs creak under his fingers.

_Cheekbone fracture, possibly two._

There is a tender spot to the side of his head that he can't even begin to acknowledge. He takes off his t-shirt and rips it into pieces, wrapping it around Jason's skull.

When the worst wounds are bound, he turns away. Bile rises in his throat. There is a nauseous horror surging within him, threatening to take over. There is blood on his hands. There is so much blood.

In a surreal moment, his options-his plans, his back ups,  _everything_ -fall apart. He is clueless, with his son in his arms, bleeding out against cold desert ground.

A soft moan escapes Jason's lips, choked. Blood dribbles down his chin.

_Jesus Christ,_ he thinks, cupping Jason's jaw in a shaking hand,  _Jay. Jaybird. Please. No._

Behind them, the warehouse burns on. Rubble falls around them, swirling in a sudden gust of wind. Embers beat at his face, red-hot against his skin. He leans over Jason, shielding him from the worst of it.

_can't stay here. can't leave him here like this. I have to stop the bleeding._

He raises his head skyward. A roar is torn from his lips, cast into the desert sky with every ounce of his being.

" _KAL-EL_!"

It takes a few seconds, but the moment seems infinite to him. Clark's familiar figure is at his side in a heartbeat, eyes flickering a dull red.

"Jason," the Kryptonian breathes, kneeling next to the boy. He looks to Bruce briefly, panic clear in his eyes. "I'll get him-"

" _Now,_ " Bruce snaps.

Clark disappears in a blur, Jason cradled in his arms. For a moment, the desert is still around him. The fire crackles distantly, a wave of heat glancing across his back.

_He's alright,_ he thinks, leaning back onto his heels,  _he's alive._

Without warning, he collapses to the ground, his head spinning. The adrenaline drains from his body, until he is trembling against the sand.

Relief surges through him. All he can do is lie still, his heart beating wildly.

_He's going to be alright. You got to him in time. He's okay. He's okay. Calm down._

Blood smears across his face as he puts his head in his hands. He ignores the slick feeling, willing his heart rate to slow.

The image of Jason, limp across the warehouse floor, fills his vision in technicolor.

"Bruce."

He looks up. Clark is standing above him, his hand outstretched.

The fire lets out a roar behind them. He clasps it slowly, standing on shaky legs.

"Take me to him."

* * *

He doesn't expect Jason to wake for hours. The machines beep slowly, releasing painkillers into the IVs every few minutes. Jason is covered in bandages; the blood has been carefully wiped away from his exposed skin, what little there is.

The staff are quietly bribed to let him stay in the creaky chair. He dozes when he cannot keep his eyes open any longer. Clark checks in on him every few hours, a silent presence in the doorway.

(he breaks down in the bathroom once,  _once,_ after it all. he shakes and cries and doesn't make a sound, against the rough linoleum. doesn't let them see how scared, how terrified he was, deep down. doesn't let Clark see how close he was to giving up, next to Jason's broken body, a blank mind his only recourse)

Jason wakes up three days later. His eyes are glassy, flecked with burst blood vessels. Half his face is covered in bandages.

He is the most beautiful thing Bruce has ever seen.

"Br...uce…"

One word, and his heart breaks again.

He is on his feet in a millisecond, at Jason's side before his mind even registers moving. Blue eyes track him slowly. He grips the bedframe, willing his throat to stop aching.

He smiles down at his son, utterly, enduringly grateful. Jason's lips twitch, ever so slightly.

"Hey, chum."

"You look…" Jason cuts off, swallowing in obvious pain. His throat works. He tries again. "...worried. Someth'n...happen'd."

"I look worried?"

"You're…" Jason cuts off, the corner of his mouth lifting, "...smiling."

Bruce's heart swells.

"I'll stop doing that, then."

"...good. Kinda...freakin'...me..out."

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment, and let me know what you thought! :)


End file.
